


Sleepless Nights

by Stepha_Stargaryen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Jon, F/M, Insomnia, Internal Conflict, Nightmares, One Shot, R plus L equals J, Redemption, Smut, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stepha_Stargaryen/pseuds/Stepha_Stargaryen
Summary: Neither Sansa nor Jon have been able to sleep much since retaking Winterfell. On a particularly restless night, Sansa goes to confront Jon about avoiding her in the time since Bran returned. Both of them are dealing with high anxiety, stress, fear, anger, and other pent-up feelings. Obviously, Jon's a bit more emotionally volatile than Sansa and things start to take a turn for the dark.





	

Sansa tossed and turned in her bed, throwing off the covers and staring at the canopy. She had taken her lady mother’s former chambers, and, with the hot springs running through the walls, it could be oppressively hot.

But, the stifling heat wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t rest. Jon had been avoiding her since Bran’s brief return nearly a moon ago. Petyr had obviously seen Jon’s conspicuous absenteeism as an opportunity and practically stalked her about the grounds. He followed her everywhere—appearing in the godswood, the crypts, the glass gardens, the sept—Anywhere she thought she could once find sanctuary. And always with the same agenda: pressuring her into returning with him to the Eyrie.

“You would marry your cousin, Lord Arryn. You would be the Lady of the Vale. Wife of the Warden of the East.”

“I do not wish to marry a sickly child.”

“Oh, my love, do not fret. I have a feeling our sweetrobin will not survive past the first blows of the winter winds.”

That appalled her. Robin was incorrigible, but he was her family. He was a _child._ She knew Petyr would get rid of him all too easily. And then she’d be alone, isolated in the Eyrie, with _him._

“I hardly wish to be widowed once more, Petyr.”

He smirked but his eyes did not shift expression. His emerald irises darkened whenever he stared at her, like he was staring _into_ her. It made her viscerally uncomfortable.

“You know you would not be alone, sweetling. Most men may would not desire a twice or thrice married woman. But, as you know, I am not most men.”

Sansa had forced a smile to appease him. After all of her years learning about him, she knew better than to make him doubt her loyalty to him. She did not want to deal with any surprises or volatility. _Better the devil you know._

She shuddered atop the furs from the memory of their most recent conversation despite being drenched in sweat from the room’s swelter. Littlefinger’s aspirations did not end at the Vale. _What does he plan to do about Jon?_ Petyr’s cryptic words after they’d discussed her half-brother’s ascension haunted her.

“Don’t worry, my sweet. Once certain truths about him are revealed, no true Northerner will stand behind him.” _What truths? What could Jon have done that could be so demoralizing?_ She knew Littlefinger well enough to know that “truth” had a rather lax definition for him. She was anxious over what he had planned for Jon and what “truths” he planned to leak. And if they didn’t work, would Petyr make a move more drastic?

Despite his recent aloofness toward her, Jon was still the person she cared for most. She had to protect him. _No one can protect anyone._ Her own cold words rang in her head. _I have to try._

She rolled off of her bed and walked to her water basin, peeling soaked strands of her hair off of her neck. She splashed her face and wiped down some of her body with a wet rag before toweling off. Trying to sleep was no use. Even if she could, what relief would that bring? Nights she did manage to find slumber only ended up wrought with terror and pain.

She threw on a silk robe, resenting the stifling added layer. It was necessary though—her shift was nowhere near its usual modesty sticking to her skin in this sauna. When she opened her door, she was immediately greeted by the sensation of cool air. _Thank the gods._

Coming to stand before the entry to the lord’s chambers, she knocked on the heavy wood softly and listened. She heard a chair creak and slide across the stone floor.

"Jon." She knew he was on the other side of the door but he made no move to open it, nor sound to answer her.

“Jon,” she repeated more forcefully. Her resolve didn’t last. “Please,” she croaked.

She heard him sigh through the door as the latch clanged and it cracked open. “May I come in?” she asked after he did not open it wide enough for it to enter. He didn’t respond so she pushed through herself.

Despite having been awake, Jon had no candles lighting the room. The only light was the glow from the fireplace, which only illuminated him after she shut and latched the door.

He looked completely disheveled. He was only in his breeches and a loose tunic colored with a splotch of freshly spilled wine. His hair was free from its usual tie, messy strands covering his eyes. He ran his fingers through the loose curls as he slightly swayed where he was standing.

“Are you drunk?”

He let out a cold laugh. “Not enough.”

He trudged away from her then and resumed his seat before the fire. Sansa followed and sat beside him in silence as he stared into the flames. His handsome features were clouded by his look of absolute torment. Jon was prone to brooding—you could often find him with his brow furled, running his hands through his hair. But this was different. This was deeper.

Sansa rose to pour herself some wine from his decanter. “Could you not sleep either?” she asked, her back to him.

Jon didn’t reply until she had retaken her seat. “It’s rare that I can sleep. And when I do…” He trailed off before looking up at her with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I know you have it worse than I.”

She frowned. Even if that were true, it didn't negate his pain or suffering. “It’s not a competition, Jon. Neither of us like the memories we relive in our dreams.”

“Nightmares,” Jon corrected, taking a hefty chug of his wine. “But now my days are nightmares too.”

Sansa was taken aback by such a melancholic confession. “Jon, what has happened? You’ve been so distant from me—Please tell me what’s going on.”

Jon covered his eyes with his free hand and rubbed his fingers into his temples. “I can’t.”

“Jon.” _We need to trust each other._

“I can’t!” he sobbed.

She rushed before him, prying his chalice from his hand and setting it aside. She sank to her knees and held his face in her hands.

“Jon, whatever it is, you can tell me. You can trust me. You needn’t carry this burden alone.”

His sobs persisted. “You don’t understand. It will change everything.”

“No it won’t. Whatever it is, it won’t change that I love you.”

His sobs quieted and he looked to her face, searching her eyes.

“Our relationship is unconditional, Jon. You must know that.”

Jon shook his head. “Once you know, you’ll think of me differently. You won’t be able to see me the same. You won’t be able to love me the same.”

Sansa tutted at him skeptically, withdrawing her hands to cross her arms. “Jon, come now. Is there anything I could tell you, anything I could confess, that would make you judge me? Make you love me any less? We all have had to do things to survive, Jon.”

He released a heaving sigh. “It’s not something I did. It’s… it’s who I am.”

Sansa felt herself getting frustrated. She moved to her feet. “Jon, I know who you are. You are strong, brave, kind, and gentle. You are fierce and loyal and selfless. You’re a considerate, decisive, and humble leader. You are the greatest man I have ever known after Father and I will not hear any more of this folly.”

“Father…” Jon started.

“Would be proud of you. He would beam seeing what you’ve become. He loved you so dearly, Jon. You know that. He brought you here to be with us, to raise you himself, because he loved you so. And you’ve all his best qualities. You are Father’s son.”

Jon let out a bitter laugh, his face still wet with tears. “I’m not, though. Isn’t that the cruelest jape? If I still believed in any gods I’d be furious with them.”

Sansa crinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”

Jon paused, staring up at her in trepidation. He broke their eye contact with a heavy sigh. “I’m not the bastard of Eddard Stark. I’m the son of Lyanna Stark—by her rapist, the son of a mad man who murdered our uncle and grandfather for his own pleasure. I killed my mother to enter the world and evil has lurked in my blood ever since.”

She stared at him, mouth agape. _This can’t be._

“How long until I go mad, Sansa? How long until I hurt people? You saw me with Ramsay. I couldn’t control myself. I wanted to feel every bone in his body crunch under my fists. I wanted him to know the greatest pain imaginable and I wanted to give it to him. I’m a sick man with sick thoughts and soon enough the monster that lurks inside me will overtake the man you thought you knew.”

Emotions boiled inside Sansa’s chest. “How can you even say such a thing to me? _Ramsay_ was a monster. You don’t even know all of what he did to me. You haven’t seen all of the scars, all of the wounds that had yet to heal when I first found you at Castle Black. But you knew enough that you wanted to kill him for what he did to me. You knew that he needed to suffer since traditional justice wouldn’t be enough. You’re not a monster for helping me destroy one.”

Jon’s face softened. “Sansa, what he did to you…”

“You think you could be capable of? Because your father took Aunt Lyanna? He was raised by the Mad King. You were raised by Ned Stark. You’ll not become a mad Targaryen, Jon.”

 _Targaryen._ Gods, it was all hitting her. _“Once certain truths about him are revealed…”_ She shivered. _How could Littlefinger possibly know?_

“You’re right, I was raised by Ned Stark. I was raised with you.”

She sought the meaning in his words but could not parse it out. “Yes, you were. You’re my family and I love you, unconditionally, still.”

She held him to her and his arms gripped her hips as he pressed his face against her.

“Maybe I already am mad,” he mumbled into her belly.

She ran her fingers through his hair, pensive over his words. “Why do you think yourself mad, Jon? Truly?”

Jon snatched her moving wrist forcefully, eliciting a gasp from her.

“You.”

“What?” Sansa asked, bewildered, flinching from his tightening grasp.

“You drive me mad, Sansa. The fault lies with me, but you’ve driven me mad. All the thoughts I’ve had in my head, all of my feelings—They make all the more sense now that I know what I am. It won’t be long before the rest of the inevitable madness follows the depravity that’s already taken hold of me.”

“Jon, you’re hurting me,” she winced, trying to pull from his vice grip. He shoved her wrist away and abruptly stood before her, his face an inch from hers.

“Good,” he snarled. “Maybe you’ll leave and escape me before I can do worse.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Why are you being this way?” She rubbed at her wrist, holding it to her chest. She remembered a similar ache after the nights Ramsay had bound her. “This isn’t you.”

“This is me, Sansa!” he roared at her. “This is who I’m doomed to be!”

She began to cry in earnest, hugging herself and shaking her head. 

He softened. “Sansa—”

She flinched away as he reached for her. “I’ve been held captive and controlled by monsters since I was a girl. Why do you want so badly to be another? You don’t think I’ve suffered enough? You wish to rob me of the only good relationship I have in my life? The only safety I’ve felt in years? You truly wish to hurt me, Jon?”

“No, Sansa, of course not. I’m just scared I will. I’m scared I can’t trust myself. Especially around you.”

“Jon, why?” Her eyes darted across his face. “You must tell me why.”

“Because I love you!” he shouted, exasperated.

“Jon, I love you too. We’re—”

“No, Sansa. I don’t love you as you love me. I am _in love_ with you. My thoughts are consumed by you. I ache when we are apart and lust for you when we are together. And I’ve felt this way long before I found out my true parentage. When I found out who I am, my… my feelings made more sense. That’s how Targaryens are. They marry their siblings. They fuck their siblings. My blood is obviously tainted by my father’s line given how I’ve pined for you. It’s only a matter of time before the other heads of the dragon’s madness take hold of me.”

Sansa’s chest heaved and her heart pounded. She opened her mouth to speak, but could produce no sound. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“Sansa, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave Winterfell on the morrow. You don’t deserve this. The North doesn’t deserve this. I’ll lose all support once my true lineage is known. I can’t burden you with such risk by staying. Whether it’s from them or from me.”

“You’re wrong,” she muttered, trembling. Her ability to speak surprised her. “Jon, you’re wrong.”

“No, Sansa, this is all I've thought about. I’ve run through every scenario in my head. The Northern lords will turn on me, endangering you. And what will happen when I start to descend into the throes of madness? What if I lose myself and hurt you? I could never forgive myself. You could never forgive me. You should never forgive me.”

She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him in a fervent embrace.

“Sansa, please,” he whispered, grimacing.

“Jon, you’re wrong,” she repeated.

“Sansa, I’m not. If you only knew the urges I’m already fighting, here, now, in this very moment.”

She kissed his cheek and pressed her lips to his ear. “You’re wrong. I do love you as you love me. You aren’t mad. Else we both are.”

She heard Jon suck in a shallow gasp of air. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her from him to look upon her face. His eyes were wild. “Sansa…”

She grabbed the collar of his tunic and yanked him to her, crashing her lips into his. His hand on the back of her neck slid up into her hair and fisted it tightly, eliciting a small cry from her against his mouth. His tongue tasted of wine and he intoxicated her. She sunk her teeth into his bottom lip and he groaned.

His free hand split open her robe. His fingers danced along her throat before clutching the neckline of her shift and jerking downward. The thin material ripped with ease. He moaned, moving his lips to her neck. His hands explored her waist and breasts before moving to her shoulders to push her clothes off completely, leaving her bare to him in only her smallclothes. He sunk lower, taking a nipple into his mouth, suckling before biting it softly.

She cried out as she tugged at the back of his tunic. He released her briefly, allowing her to pull the garment over his head. His lips found hers once more as her hands traced every inch of his muscular chest.

She felt his scars, just as his frantic hands must have felt hers, but neither acknowledged them with words.

He hoisted her up his arms suddenly and carried her to the great bed. He tossed her upon it before crawling over her. She reveled in the feel of his weight atop her as she wrapped her legs around him.

His kisses were deep and passionate, his touches desperate and lavish. He slid down her body, kissing every inch of her skin as his hands found her smallclothes. He tugged them down and off of her. He quickly tossed them aside and glided his hands up her legs to her thighs before pushing them apart.

His head dove between them and he immediately began to devour her. Her fingers raced through his hair as she panted and gasped. He hummed against her each time his tongue dipped into her cunt, seemingly sating himself as much as her. Soon he focused his tongue solely on her bud, slipping his fingers into her. It wasn’t long before she was quaking beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of her peak.

She was still shuddering as he climbed up her body once more. Her nectar glistened across his mouth and jaw and she tasted herself on his tongue. He let out of guttural moan against her. The eroticism of the sound sent a bolt of heat directly to her cunt. Her hands moved to his breeches and hurriedly pulled at the lacing, desperate for their animalistic passion to continue.

He helped her tug them down and kicked them off briskly. His hand found her cunt once more and he rubbed her up and down as he pressed his forehead to hers.

They hadn’t said a word to each other since they first kissed. They didn’t discuss what this would mean or how it would make them feel. They hadn’t needed to. They knew how the other felt. So did their bodies—he was hard against her thigh as his fingers stroked her wetness. But Jon was hesitating. Waiting, she realized, for her.

Her eyes gazed into his as she reached up to touch his face. “Jon,” she whispered.

He slowly moved his hand away from her center but she caught it with hers. She brought it to his cock and guided him to her.

She pressed her lips to his and murmured against his mouth. “Make love to me.”

He fused his mouth to hers as his head found her entrance. She gasped as he pushed into her, arching her back at the sensation of his width.

When their hips met she wrapped her legs around him. He filled her completely.

“Oh, Jon,” she breathed.

He began to move in agonizingly slow strokes. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head, loosing the hot tears that had been collecting in corners of her eyes.

“No,” she said, her voice airy and sweet. She cupped his face tenderly. “No. Jon, you’re perfect.”

Their kisses were intense and full of intention as he increased his pace. She grinded against him, the friction pushing her closer and closer to another peak.

The tension in her lower abdomen reached a fever pitch and she began chanting his name as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

“Jon, Jon, Jon. Oh, Jon, I’m—oh, Jon!”

Waves of pleasure cascaded over her. She heard Jon’s breath hitch and he groaned against her ear. She felt his warm seed pulsing into her as she hugged him to her chest. She cradled the back of his head in her hand, running her fingers through his hair as he kissed her neck and collarbone. She felt him soften inside her but he made no move to pull away.

“Sansa,” he mumbled. “Sansa.”

“Shh,” she hushed him. “Sleep.”

She ran her fingers up and down his back as his breathing became deep and steady. It should be unpleasant, being pinned like this under his weight, but she had never felt more comfortable or safe.

“Goodnight, Jon,” she whispered with a smile as she drifted off into her own overdue peaceful slumber.


End file.
